Warm
by temporalgambit
Summary: Suna catches a cold, Takeo worries, and Yamato saves the day. Established Takeo/Suna/Yamato.


"SUNAAA!" Takeo shouts, bursting through the door, "I got your text! What happened?! You're sick?! Since when?! Are you okay?! Is it bad?!"

Suna cringes a little at the volume, dropping another crumpled tissue into the overflowing wastebasket beside his bed. He pushes himself into a half-sitting position, watching lethargically as the nearly-empty tissue box tumbles to the ground. He makes a valiant (but futile) effort to clear his throat before replying, "I'b fide; it's just a cold."

This reassurance does little to alleviate Takeo's obvious worry, but he does at least lower his voice a little. "You sound really sick."

"Sorry," he hasn't really had a chance to hear himself all day, but he can kind of see where Takeo is coming from. "It's because I'b codgested, ad by throat is sore—but it's dot as bad as it souds. Did you read the rest of the bessage?"

Takeo pauses. "Well, I got as far as 'I'm sick,' and then…"

Suna sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I _specifically_ said dot to worry, and that you did't have to cobe over." Though now that he thinks about it, he probably should've known better than to expect Takeo to just leave it at that. He may be loud and prone to overdramatic displays, but he's got the biggest heart of anyone Suna's ever met. In hindsight, he wonders if it might have been better not to have told him at all.

Perhaps sensing this, Takeo steps closer—close enough to put a hand on Suna's back. "It's fine," he insists, rubbing up and down, "It would be worse if you _didn't_ tell me, and I found out later, right?" He nods to himself, not waiting for an answer. "I'll call Yamato, too. She'll definitely want to come over."

"You dod't—" he chokes, coughing a little, "—you dod't have to get her involved."

"But she'll _want_ to," Takeo insists, "and you'd do the same for either of us."

Takeo's making a lot of sense today, and Suna can't help but agree. "Odly if—" his voice is a whisper, so he clears his throat and tries again, "Odly if you're sure." He doesn't want to deprive Yamato of a beautiful summer day either, but it would be unfair to leave her out of the loop. Besides that, his parents won't be home until late, and he has to selfishly admit that he really does want the company.

"One-hundred percent," Takeo gives him a grin and a thumbs-up, other hand reaching into his pocket to retrieve his cell.

The call is brief, but Suna can hear Yamato's worried tone on the other end of the line. Hopefully she won't go too overboard, either. He's usually the one who has to reel the other two back in, but he's not sure he has the energy for it today.

They decide to watch some TV until Yamato arrives, which means Suna is forced to leave his blanket cocoon—though he does drag the comforter with him to the living room. Once settled on the couch, however, he ends up pressed firmly against Takeo's side, which is even better. One of the many great things about Takeo is that he's _warm_ , like some kind of giant human furnace. Nestled up to all that warmth, it's easy to forget about how horrible and achy and miserable he's felt all day, and it's not long before he's dozing off, finally comfortable.

And then, not twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings.

Takeo moves to untangle himself from the other's clutches, apologizing when Suna groans. The door swings open, only to reveal a very red-faced Yamato. She takes a moment to compose herself in the doorway, slipping off her shoes and fanning herself with the hand _not_ clutching a large grocery bag.

"Where's…?" is her first question, and Takeo points her to the living room. She scurries in. "Sunakawa-kun! How are you feeling?"

Takeo looks delighted, but Suna, having woken up enough to regain his ability to speak, has a more pressing concern. He counters her question with one of his own, "Did you rud here?"

She shakes her head, finally recovering her breath. "I jogged a little. I would've gotten here sooner, but I stopped along the way to pick up some things," she smiles. "Oh! That reminds me! I have something for both of you. Well, more than one something for Sunakawa-kun, but first," she turns towards Takeo, standing on tiptoes, waiting for him to obediently bend down and meet her lips with his, "and for you," she twirls around to face Suna, this time leaning forward herself to plant a kiss firmly on his cheek.

Takeo positively _beams_ , and the display gets a smile out of Suna, too—though now Yamato is frowning instead.

"You're really warm, Sunakawa-kun," she observes, touching her lips where they'd just met his skin, "Are you running a temperature?"

He blinks. "I dod't…think so?" Or maybe he is. He's honestly not certain, even as the sensation of Yamato pressing her cool hand to his forehead causes him to shudder.

Her frown deepens at his reaction, and she sets the bag on the floor. "Do you have a thermometer?"

"Id the bathroob."

She speaks over her shoulder, "Takeo-kun, could you…?"

"Mm!" and he's gone.

"Medicide cabidet, secod s—" Suna tries to supply, but ends up making himself cough instead. It doesn't matter. Takeo's been his friend for so long he probably already knows where it is.

Sure enough, Takeo emerges triumphant a moment later, thermometer looking ridiculously tiny clasped in his massive hand.

Yamato accepts it with a word of thanks, pressing the 'on' button and turning to Suna. He humors her, curious himself now as well, and allows her to pass it between his lips and beneath his tongue.

He swears she doesn't breathe the entire time they wait, watching as the reading slowly climbs past 37, then up another half degree, then another, until it finally levels out at 38.4.

"It's low, then," Suna mumbles around the thermometer, which Yamato quickly removes from his mouth.

"It's still a fever," she pushes back, and Takeo nods in agreement. "Have you been keeping hydrated?"

"I…" he thinks for a moment to the glass of water his mother had left on his bedside table that morning, which still sits half-full, "…sort of?"

"Even so," she turns to rummage around in the bag she'd brought, "I brought juice," she passes him a bottle, "and more tissues, since I thought you might need them—speaking of which, Sunakawa-kun, your nose is running."

He realizes a little too late that she's right, and cups a hand over the lower half of his face in embarrassment. "Sorry. Ub, cad I…?"

Yamato tears the top of the box open for him, giggling a little as she holds it out to him.

Suna gratefully accepts it, trying to blow his nose as softly as possible—a gesture born half out of politeness, and half out of how much he discovers the action _hurts_. But then he finds that once he's started, it's nearly impossible to stem the flow as he's forced to grab a third, then a fourth tissue from the box.

Yamato is still giggling when he's finally done (seven tissues in), and now Takeo has joined her. While Suna tries not to look as off-put as he feels (as well as to ignore the newly awoken pounding sensation behind his eyes), something must show on his face, because they immediately stop.

"S-sorry, Sunakawa-kun, we're not laughing at _you_ ," Yamato tries to amend, "it's just that you look—you make this face, and it's—"

"It's cute, Suna," Takeo finishes for her, sitting next to him on the couch.

Yamato fervently nods, "It is, it really is!"

A pause. "It…doesd't feel cute," he informs them, unsure of how else to respond. His nose is chapped, his lips are cracked, he's flushed and sweaty and feeling anything _but_ cute.

"It is, I promise," Yamato assures him, digging through the bag once more, "Now drink that," she glances pointedly at the juice, "because I have…here!" She comes up with a small box, "Cooling patches, they should help with your fever," she smiles.

Suna is still struggling with the cap of the juice bottle, so he hands it to Takeo long enough to lift his bangs away from his face, allowing Yamato to stick the adhesive side of a patch to his forehead.

When Takeo hands back the bottle, it has miraculously opened, and he takes a long drink of orange juice until Yamato seems satisfied.

"Now," she claps her hands together, "what are we going to do for the rest of the day?"

"Suna and I were watching TV," Takeo supplies helpfully, "We could put in a movie."

"Perfect!" Yamato beams, and immediately begins rummaging through the cabinet beneath the television set. "how does a comedy sound?"

As the opening credits roll, it takes some maneuvering to get them all comfortably situated on the couch—Suna sandwiched between the other two. The minute he's settled between them, though, he realizes exactly how gross he really feels. "I'm godda get you guys sick," he protests, then reconsiders, "…Well, baybe dot Takeo, who I'b pretty sure doesd't _get_ sick, but Yabato—"

She shushes him. "If I was worried about that, I wouldn't have come."

Suna wants to protest again, but decides that, as usual, she's probably right. Besides, he's stuck between the two people he cares about the most, warm and comfortable and _sleepy,_ and he just doesn't have the energy to argue with her right now. He snuggles in for the long haul, knowing very well he's not going to make it through more than the first fifteen minutes of the movie—but with the knowledge that he can always ask the other two to fill him in on the plot later, he closes his eyes.


End file.
